It’s all Trumped up.

So the world is a crazy place right now. One of the things I hold dearest is a positive ideology. In general, I believe the world is a beautiful place and that people as a whole are good. The morning after the US election, those ideals took a bit of a hit.

Ok, a big hit.

I went back and forth on writing this because we’re inundated with news of the election. I also didn’t want to be divisive – the world is already divided enough right now. And we’re all really sick of it. Plus, there are people far more knowledgeable than me examining this from every angle.

But dammit, I have a few things to say.

I’m fairly liberal and when I was having conversations about this with some people – primarily strangers (remember when you were told not to talk to strangers? Oh the irony) – I was told one too many times that I watched too much CNN. Which grates my nerves to no end because it undermines me as an intelligent, educated, (and often even fact-checking) woman. It completely dismisses how I feel and think about something.

I’m heartbroken that Trump was elected. Take Hilary, and her flaws and un-likability out of it for a moment. Trump, to me, as not just the president-elect but even as a candidate is completely unacceptable. Who ran a campaign of hateful, misogynistic, racist, xenophobic rhetoric.  And I say that not because I’ve been taken in by propaganda – I say that because of things I’ve heard HIM say.

Real, recorded, on-the-record words that he has spoken.

And the reactions. I saw the people and the media treat this as if it were a cavalier thing. A minor transgression.

It’s not.

(Check out this article on false equivalency)

I’m heartbroken about the message this sends the world. I’m heartbroken about the message this sends my friends and neighbours, who are a variety of ethnicities and call a variety of countries home. I’m heartbroken for me, and my sisters, because of the message this sends us as women.

I’m personally heartbroken because this man is the embodiment of every man who thought he could talk over me. Every man who thought I didn’t know my place. Who thought my value was the measure of how I looked.

Who thought my body was public property.

I’m heartbroken to live in a world that would elevate a man like this to power – for any reason.

I’ve done a lot of drinking, and a bit of thinking, in the time since. I’ve come to some sort of a conclusion. All I can say is this: Hate can’t beat hate. Anger won’t cancel out anger. Fear only breeds more fear.

We have to love louder and harder and brighter than those who hate.

If you are saddened by what you see – go out and bring some love and kindness into the world to balance it out a little. Walk an old lady across the street. Rescue a cat from a tree. Hug an immigrant.

As someone brilliant once said, be the change you want to see in the world.

PS – This made me cry. One of the best things I’ve read since the election.

PPS – We have to have empathy for those whose opinions differ from our own. We won’t solve anything by ignoring them, or dismissing them as ‘backwards’, ‘outdated’, ‘redneck’, etc. The world is teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice and we must start talking. We can’t hope to make things better if we can’t understand the other side.

PPPS – You should always get someone’s permission before hugging them.

PPPPS – Or so I’ve been told.

I WON A THING!

So remember when I wrote about how I was up for an Island Literary Award? Well… I took third place!

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I’ve never entered any type of contest, ever. There was always too much going on at home to enter any school contests, the way that I grew up forced me to focus on simply surviving – I didn’t have the capacity for anything else.

The piece that I submitted is about the darker currents in my life – growing up with a mentally ill mother and the impact this had on our relationship, how it became frayed and fragmented over time. I open on her funeral, and then in between the footsteps leading me to her coffin I flashback to memories that build the understanding of the complexity of that relationship. All the ways she built me and broke me.

I put some pretty raw things in there. Being ripped from her arms screaming, packing my things into garbage bags, losing track of foster homes, learning in a group home from another kid how to break open a razor blade and self-harm as a coping mechanism. Breaking into her apartment to find out if she’s dead or alive.

I hid these things from the world for a long time. People who know me in the real world are shocked to find out about my childhood.”But you’re so happy and well-adjusted!” I don’t fit the mold of someone with my history. I’ve been told I’m a statistical anomaly. I think this means I’ve done a pretty good job of healing my wounds in the battlefield.

But I was scared of how others would view my history, afraid that they would see my emotional scars as a weakness. I think as I get older I’m learning that all these parts of me make me stronger, not weaker. I’m learning to embrace my story.

So this is really special to me.

Perhaps I’m starting to figure out to how to not just simply survive, but thrive. Although I suspect it will always feel as if I’m making it up as I go along.

It helps that I can buy wine now too.

Anyhow, now I have this award that I can frame and put up on my wall to use as armor against that tiny voice in the back of my head that whispers “cant’s, shouldnt’s, wont’s” in my ear. I can point to it and say “screw you, little voice. I do what I want now”.

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For My Sister

On Pain

The edges,

my edges,

are all sharp.

They prod, and they cut.

They hurt me,

it hurts,

when I move,

when I think,

especially when I smile.

The edges,

my edges,

are all sharp.

Waiting to be dulled by happiness again.

This is for my sister. Sometimes you say the most beautiful things without even realizing it.

On Pain


I wrote this a little while ago, and it’s been in my drafts as a ‘bonus mid-week’ post – but this week’s been so busy that I’m hauling it out. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled funny next week.

I also thought it was suitable this week as I’m up for that literary award tomorrow for a serious piece I wrote about grief and healing. Wish me luck! 🙂

If you feel you need a funny this Friday morning, and are sad you didn’t find one here, email me and I will personally email you a funny just for you. It will be a screenshot of something, but it will be funny.

Mental illness is a civil war.

Next week they are doing an inquiry into my mother’s suicide, because she died in the hospital.  This post talks about suicide and mental illness and may contain triggers.  Feel free to skip it and come back when I’m funny again.  This is for all of you out there that might be missing someone you lost to mental illness. Or grieving at all.

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This is a quote someone shared with me that represents the battle that so many face with mental illness.  I unfortunately don’t have a source.
“Our friend [your mother] died on her own battlefield. She was killed in action fighting a civil war. She fought against adversaries that were as real to her as her casket is real to us. They were powerful adversaries. They took toll of her energies and endurance. They exhausted the last vestiges of her courage and strength. At last these adversaries overwhelmed her. And it appeared that she lost the war. But did she? I see a host of victories that she has won!
For one thing — she has won our admiration — because even if she lost the war, we give her credit for her bravery on the battlefield. And we give her credit for the courage and pride and hope that she used as her weapons as long as she could.  Only God knows what this child of His suffered in the silent skirmishes. We shall remember not her death, but her daily victories gained through her kindnesses and thoughtfulness, through her love for family and friends, for animals and books and music, for all things beautiful, lovely and honorable. We shall remember the many days that she was victorious over overwhelming odds. We shall remember not the years we thought she had left, but the intensity with which she lived the years she had!”

I couldn’t have said it better.

The little things…

I’ve been in one of those modes recently where I’ve let the daily grind wear and tear me up.  I’m working too hard for too little money.  I’m beating myself up for not accomplishing the million tasks I think I should be doing. For all the bills that get paid a day too late. But here’s the thing: I’ve been worrying about stuff that, in the grand scheme of it all, doesn’t really matter.

Don’t get me wrong, daily life is stressful. It’s hard not to get caught up in it all. I’ve been in this place before,  I’ll be in this place again. But somewhere in the middle, I remember that I’m alive. I’m so lucky that every day I wake up, my eyes open. It’s all an adventure, the good and the bad. And I’m grateful to be along for the ride.

I try to remind myself that that from one moment to the next, every single second is unique. I will never be here, exactly as I am now, in this moment again.

I try to remind myself to worry less.

I try to remind myself to enjoy the ride a little more.

I try to remind myself that the problems of today, will soon enough be the problems of yesterday.

I will never be here, exactly here, again.

And I am so goddamn lucky to be here, to be my over-anxious, worry-riddled, carefree, reckless, shy, spotlight-lovin’ complex contradictory self.

I remind myself to appreciate it.

I remind myself not to let it slip by unnoticed – overshadowed by the daily grind and all my worries.

I read something recently that put all this philosophy into a pithy little sentence:

“How you spend your days is how you spend your life.”

My first thought was “Damn, I need watch less Netflix”. My second thought was “I am so not pithy. It takes me a million sentences to convey any point. I’m more the ‘long-winded’ type”. My third thought was “Netflix is the shit though”.

And I made a vow not to worry so much, to not to obsess about the things that are out of my control. That no matter my life circumstances, I will strive for happiness.

And also to forgive myself when I get sucked back into the daily stress. When I worry too much about the little things. To recognize that as an inevitability. To see it as human.

But I will strive to live my days with joyful abandon.

To make my days count.

To make my life count.

I’m here, after all.

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